the seas of pain hurt before dawn,
before returning itself to the ocean,
escaping from the light it turns to blue anemones,
to be lost in a wave or waves of the memories,
discord turns in stillness,
the thought of ourselves hurt long before
and still after the first death,
men
women
dressed in the color of the soul breathe under
cover(s),
the children of our imagination laugh like a
bird of freedom dipping its wings into the sun
some of the winds of words sleep after the hurricane